


blame it on me

by thewonderzebra



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewonderzebra/pseuds/thewonderzebra
Summary: Brad has the “A” while Patrice is hurt. He blames himself when games go wrong—especially when the team is on the road.





	blame it on me

Patrice picks Brad up from the airport. He doesn't physically need to, since when he got hurt, Torey offered to drive Brad home when the team got back to Boston. From an emotional standpoint, though, Patrice knows he needs to. He watches the game with ice on his bruised ribs, watches his team lose less than a full minute into overtime. The camera pans away from his teammates as they leave the ice, but Patrice doesn't have to see them to understand the disappointment etched onto their faces. 

He knows, too, that Brad is the one withering the most under that team-shared disappointment. He doesn't need to watch any post-game interviews to understand how defeated Brad must feel. He doesn’t need any camera close-ups to picture the hurt on Brad's face, and he certainly doesn't need to hear Brad's voice to understand that his other half is taking the loss personally. That's why Patrice knows he needs to pick Brad up from the airport. He needs to convince him to keep out of his own head.

Ignoring the way every muscle and bone in his sternum twinges in pain, Patrice shuffles to the car, shoving his feet into his shoes and pulling on his coat to obscure his sweatpants-clad form. He winces every time he has to brake and the seatbelt presses on his injuries. However, he pays the pain no mind. He has muscled through injuries time and again, and he is more than willing to do so now, if it means he can help Brad in any way. 

He waits in the car as the plane taxis and comes to a stop, only getting out to lean against the car when he sees his teammates start to deplane. When his teammates realize he is there, Patrice receives several excited greetings, despite the bitterness of the loss they all suffered. He warmly greets his teammates, downplaying his injuries as necessary and offering words of encouragement. All the while, his eyes dart toward the plane in search of his other half. 

As Patrice expected, Brad looks the most defeated and sullen out of the entire team, like he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He waits for Brad to come close enough for him to make eye contact, then gives him his best smile. He watches as Brad’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and gives him a small nod to wordlessly assure him of his presence. Then, because he knows Brad needs it, Patrice opens his arms for a hug and waits for his other half to cross the remaining distance between them. Luckily, he doesn’t need to wait long.

Brad all but throws his bag to the ground when he is close enough to the car, and launches himself into Patrice’s arms. Only at the last second does he pull away slightly, remembering Patrice’s injuries. Of course, Patrice overlooks this hesitation, and envelops Brad fully in his arms, holding him close to his chest and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Bergy,” Brad mumbles into his husband’s chest. “You should be resting, eh?” He does his best to sound stern and concerned, but he can’t help the automatic reaction he has to being in Patrice’s arms—which is to melt into his embrace.

“Maybe,” Patrice murmurs noncommittally. “But I can rest later. Right now, I want to bring you home.” 

Brad knows he should scold Patrice for what is likely to be an exertion of his injured body. But he can’t. First of all, he loves and respects Patrice too much to pick a fight with him. Second of all, he is just too tired, too defeated to do anything but comply with whatever plan his husband has come up with. And third of all, nothing sounds better than riding home with Patrice, because he knows he won’t have to think about said defeat. His only condition is that Patrice has to ride shotgun to avoid further injury.

The drive home is silent, but it is a comfortable silence. Patrice rests a hand on Brad’s thigh, rubbing his muscles gently. In any other situation, the action might be sexual. But right now, it is based on the hitching of Brad's breath in his chest, and the unspoken need for comfort. And if Patrice happens to spot the silent tears tracking their way down Brad's cheeks, he continues to say nothing. 

In fact, Patrice continues to say nothing, continues to let Brad drive the conversation and the need for comfort from Patrice. He doesn't mind silence, but it is strange, considering that Brad is the one perpetuating it. He also is not one to push his husband to talk before he is ready; he understands Brad's current need to brood, as he has been in the same situation before. So, he wordlessly helps Brad get settled and ready for bed--as much as his aching body will allow, anyway--happy to wait for the meantime. 

By the time they both settle under the covers and Patrice is beginning to wonder if he and Brad are just going to ignore the heavy atmosphere that has followed them home from the airport, the silence is broken. Brad sniffles loudly, and audibly fights back a sob before he rolls toward Patrice. Patrice is expecting this, and gingerly pulls Brad in close, cradling his head against his chest. 

“It’s alright, ange,” Patrice soothes. “I’m here.” He rubs Brad’s back, murmuring how much he loves him in between placing gentle kisses to his head. He does his best not to interrupt Brad’s crying, knowing that tears can be cathartic after a bad game or a bad trip. Instead, Patrice continues to hold Brad close, allowing him to shake and sob with only the occasional reminder to breathe so as to avoid hyperventilating. 

When Brad simply cannot cry anymore, his body collapses, and he attempts to keep his breathing steady as he lies motionless in Patrice’s arms. Again, Patrice kisses his head. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says. “Not if you don’t want to.” He knows Brad won’t hide anything from him, but he also wants to make sure his husband has an easy ‘out’.

In response, Patrice feels rather than sees Brad shake his head. “It’s fine,” the winger replies, his voice hoarse from crying. “I think I need to talk about it. Get it out of my system, you know?” 

Patrice lets out a hum of agreement, and shifts just enough to allow Brad to wrap his legs around one of his own, clinging like a bear cub. It takes mere milliseconds for Brad to do just that. Despite the sadness permeating the atmosphere, Patrice can’t help but smile. He loves the sensation of Brad clinging to him, loves having him close, and being stuck at home while Brad was on the road trip was torture, if only for the reason that Patrice missed being clung to. 

“I know it’s stupid,” Brad says after a few moments’ silence. “But I’m just so fucking sick of losing. I’m tired of trying to play the best I can and still ending up at the bottom. I feel like I’m letting the team down, like I can’t do enough to help them. And god, Bergy, it just fucking hurts.” 

“It’s not stupid at all,” Patrice assures Brad. “I know you’re frustrated, ange. But it’s not your fault, and I know you’re doing more than enough to help the team.” 

Brad releases a dejected sigh. “It doesn’t feel like it,” he mumbles. “The whole team is looking up to me because I have the “A”, and I can’t do anything worthy of being looked up to.”

“That’s not true, Marchy,” Patrice counters. He doesn’t need a mirror to know his eyebrows are furrowed in concern. Every time Brad takes his frustration out on himself, it makes Patrice’s heart positively shatter. He wants to do anything and everything to take Brad’s pain away, but if he can’t manage that, then Patrice at least wants to convince Brad to stop blaming himself. 

“How is it not true?” Brad interjects before Patrice can say much else. “I can’t score a fucking goal. I can’t avoid getting penalties. And whatever encouragement I give the team just feels empty. I’m an alternate; I should be better!”

Patrice sighs softly—not out of frustration, but out of understanding. He knows the disappointment Brad is feeling. He understands his need to be self-critical, especially since the league is so quick to criticize him when he doesn’t score a lot of goals in a short period of time. He understands, because he has been in Brad’s shoes. 

“I know, Marchy,” he murmurs earnestly. “I do. I’ve been there before. But please believe me when I tell you not to blame yourself. You’re doing plenty right, ange; you’re setting up plays, you’re winning face offs, and I know your words aren’t falling flat with the team.” 

Patrice pauses for a moment to kiss Brad’s head, and to smooth his hair back. “I know you have a drive to win, and it’s frustrating to lose over and over,” he continues. “But I promise you, you’re doing a great job, ange. You’ve stepped up so much, and I am so proud of you.”

“You…you are?” Brad asks. His voice is so soft, so hesitant and uncharacteristically full of doubt. Patrice wants nothing more to shield Brad from everything and everyone that has ever made him doubt himself. He knows that is unrealistic, so he does what he can, which is to reassure him and console him. 

“Of course I am, Marchy,” Patrice murmurs earnestly. “I love you. I just hate hearing you doubt yourself.”

Brad sniffles, his breath hitching dangerously once more. Patrice holds him tighter, ignoring the way his injured chest aches. “You’ve done what I can’t right now, and have stepped up for the team,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t see it, even if we lose, I’m so incredibly proud of you. Always.”

This time, when Brad cries, it is out of a sense of relief. He is barely able to return the sentiment before he dissolved in tears again. Just as before, Patrice holds Brad until there are no tears left for him to cry, rubbing his back and kissing his head, murmuring comforting words in Brad’s ear. It isn’t long after that before Brad drifts off to sleep, physically and emotionally exhausted; Patrice tightens his hold on Brad’s frame, and falls asleep shortly thereafter. He just hopes he can comfort him, even while they sleep, and somehow convince Brad to stop blaming himself whenever things go wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! It’s been a while, I know. Leave a comment below if you feel so inclined. The positive feedback feeds my plot bunnies. Come say hi on tumblr, if you’d like. I go by the same URL there too. :)


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